


Stolen Identity

by Sundiver



Series: Sundiver's Steter Week 2018 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, First Meetings, M/M, Misunderstandings, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Steter Week, Steter Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 12:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15436803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundiver/pseuds/Sundiver
Summary: Day five. Prompt: Tattoo Shop AUPeter Hale returns to Beacon Hills to start his life over. Little does he know his life is really going for a new beginning.





	Stolen Identity

**Author's Note:**

> A.N.: Sorry, I have no idea how to summarize this, lol. I had to pull this one off out of thin air, since I’ve mistakenly wrote the prompt as a coffee shop, and the story went for the soul mate prompt. Shops prompts are not my strong suit, and I have trouble enough with dealing with the coffee shop one. I had no idea whatsoever how to pull a florist shop off, not even after reading some amazing works on the subject – like “Ink and Blossoms” or “Petals in my Pocket”. So I went the tattoo shop AU, I feel more confident there, and besides, my some of my all-time favorite fics – “Alpha Peter and the Ragtags” and “Indelible Marks” are Tattoo Shop AU. So there. Hope you like it. It’s sort of… IDK.  
> Also, English is not my first language, and my works for the Steter Week are not yet beta read. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. As soon as my wonderful beta Blinc43 does her magic I’ll fix the stories.  
> Oh, I have tumblr now!  
> http://sundiver4steter.tumblr.com/

 

Peter Hale put the key in the lock and turned it. The tumblers and cog-wheels inside shifted and clicked, once, twice, three times. Peter pulled the key out of the lock, grabbed the handle and took a deep staying breath. This was it. The last piece of reclaiming his life back.

It happened a year ago – his life crumbling down to pieces, imploding. One year to a day. It happened on this date, on the day of his parents’ deaths anniversary. In a manner of speaking, it was like that all over again – Peter’s life ending for a second time.

The first time was when his parents died when he was five years old and he had to go live with his sister.

It happened fast, the implosion.

The second time – not so much.

Sometimes during this year Peter had thought the two events were connected. Again, in a manner of speaking they were. Connected that is. One thing led to the other.

Peter had built up for himself this grieving ritual. He did the thing for the first time when he was sixteen and had his driver’s license. Surprisingly, it had helped him drag himself out of the pit of grief and misery much faster than previous years. He repeated it the next year with same result. On the third year it become a ritual he had done every year since, up until the last. He would go in a bar, drink himself stupid on wolfsbane laced alcohol, sleep it over in his car, and then drive away to an isolated and secluded location somewhere in the wild, where he would shift in his full wolf form and stay an animal for a week or so. He would run, he would hunt, he would fight other wolves or predators… Sometimes he looked for the fight deliberately, sometimes the predators of the land had sensed him and came to chase him away. But he wouldn’t be chased away. He would leave on his own, when he decided to. When he was ready to be human again.

Every year, for twenty years.

The pack knew that on the date of their grandparents deaths, Uncle Peter would get stupidly drunk and then will disappear for a week. On the tenth anniversary he had been gone for two weeks, so on the twentieth the pack expected him to be gone for longer.

But Peter came back, later than usual, earlier than was expected. It had taken him ten days only this time.

Ten days of absence, during which everything he had in LA, unbeknownst to him, was being systematically destroyed, piece by piece. Ten days absence for his carefully built life in LA away from the pack, ten days absence for his carefully created, cultivated and established reputation under a pseudonym, ten days absence for all he had achieved for his thirty six years – to be stolen away. The worst part? Peter had noticed around two months later.

In a spawn of a week, Peter Hale had lost everything. His house, his tattoo parlor, his other properties he bought for a security blanket, his life savings, everything. All his credit cards had been maxed out, a substantial loan had been taken in his name, using his business and properties as a guarantee. Even his car was toed out by the bank. In a week Peter Hale was more than literally living on the street, because he couldn’t go home to his pack – he had to stay in LA on police orders – and had forty dollars cash at his disposal. He had called Talia.

Most people, Peter had mused later, doesn’t think much about having their identity stolen. They think all they have to do is to go to the police and get a new ID and driver’s license. This was not the case, when a professional targeted you specifically. They hack your e-mails, they hack your computer and phone, and they get all the information about you they can beforehand. The last think they do is the physical strike – stealing your wallet. If they are good enough, like it was in Peter’s case, they take your wallet, make copies of all your documents and credit cards in a spawn of an hour or two, and return it without you even noticing. They choose their timing perfectly. When you go out of town, they make their forgeries and proceed to take even more from you that they have already taken. They forge your signatures on checks and bank withdraws and loan papers and mortgages. They get into your home, break into your safe, and sell your vintage collections…

But what most people failed to realize, was if you’re targeted by a professional, the recovery of your identity was a very, very long and difficult process. The identity theft was probably the only case in the judicial system, where the adage “Innocent until proven guilty” does _not_ apply. You start as already guilty and have to prove your innocence. You have to prove that it wasn’t actually _you_ who withdraw all your savings, it wasn’t you who took all those loans, and it wasn’t you who bought all those expensive things. It was drawn out and tedious investigation, following up the electronic and the real life trails the thieves had taken, gathering evidence, gathering witnesses, who would testify in court in your favor. And what most people didn’t realize, was that when your lawyers apply for a court date, said date won’t be the next week, it will be several months away, probably half a year or more.

The only reason Peter had managed to get his identity back in nine months was thanks to Talia being the District Attorney for Beacon County, and had pulled all the strings at her disposal, both as a DA and as an Alpha werewolf. She had even reached to Ennis Black and Kali Steel – two alphas she deeply detested, the unofficial rulers of L.A.’s underbelly – for help.

Once Peter had gotten his name again, he moved back to Beacon Hills permanently. He came back where he started his life as a newborn, and just as a newborn once again, with nothing to his name but his pack, started building his life from the ground up.

The pack he had never felt a real part of had had step up and helped him tremendously, proving to Peter that they loved him, in their own weird ways and wanted him.

He bought a small shop with a studio apartment above it with the Pack’s funds. He was so busy with opening his new tattoo parlor as nobody – he left his previous life in LA, where it belonged - that he had forgotten about his parent’s death anniversary this year. When he remembered, it was almost too late. May be it was time to move on and leave the old tradition behind. He was starting a new life, it was time to make new traditions as well.

He opened the door of the “Magic Needle”, the newly minted, opened for the first time ever tattoo parlor in Beacon Hills, and entered his new life. A new place, a new name, a new reputation to build. In a manner of speaking, Peter Hale was a ‘tabula rasa’ again, blank page to be filled. Rebirth.

He still refused to use his real name for his business, just like he started in L.A. There he had been known as JoCo – a pseudonym he had created from the first two letters of his parents’ names – Joshua and Cornelia. Now? Now he was starting a new, but going deeper in acknowledging his heritage. Now he was and will be known as Peter Wolf.

Talia grumbled about that when he had told her, but he waved it off. He didn’t want to be hold up to expectations the people of Beacon Hills would have of the DA’s brother or the Prodigal Hale son who went to LA for twenty years and came back with nothing but the shirt on his back. Talia begrudgingly agreed. She understood, the whole pack understood and, to Peter’s surprise, supported him full heartedly. They were even doing an official opening on Friday.

Peter, however, wanted the real opening to be today, on the day his parents died. New tradition.

It was a slow day, and by slow he meant no one showed up until two p.m. Probably people hadn’t known the shop would be open already. All the fliers and the promotion materials his Pack had made for him stated that the official opening was on Friday. Never mind that the lights were up and the ‘open’ sign at the door, people probably thought the renovations were still going on.

And then it _happened_.

The door-bell jangled, and even before Peter had time to lift his head from the magazine he was reading, the scent of _mate_ hit him right in the face.

Later, when Peter tried to describe the feeling to the wide-eyed Derek, Laura and Cora, he couldn’t find the right words for it.

It was a mix of elation and immense happiness and dread – the moment your entire world shifts and wraps itself around this person you know nothing about.

Up to this point Peter would swear up, down and sideways love at first site does not exist. Moreover he had scoffed at the idea and had made fun of people trying to convince him otherwise. Jesus, how wrong he had been!

The boy was beautiful! Pale, tall, lanky, wide eyed and long limbed, graceful in a manner only a baby-gazelle was graceful, delicate and exquisite but tripping over his own feet.

The boy wave at him from the door.

“Wow, you have no tattoos!” was the first thing out of his mate’s mouth, but the boy – Jesus, Peter hoped he was legal! - hurried to correct himself. “Not that there is something wrong in not having tattoos, I don’t have any tattoos eater. But you are tattooing people and have no ink yourself! This is weird, isn’t it? Wait, are you the artist or you just man the desk? Sorry, sorry, there is nothing wrong in manning the desk, I man the desk at the police station, I just thought, I don’t know what I thought, sorry, I’m babbling! Hi, I’m Stiles. It’s a nickname, but no one can pronounce the Polish monstrosity my parents bestowed me with, not even me, so there – Stiles. I want to make an appointment with Peter Wolf”.

Oh, God, the irony! It burned! The little lamb had come to make an appointment with the Big Bad Wolf wearing the scent of ‘eat-me-please’!

The kid was so adorable, so innocent, so _young_ , that Peter had really hard time not letting his wolf to simply drag this little lamb into the back office, claim and knot him so no one never, ever would even think of coming closer to what was his. He had hard time keeping his eyes from glowing the iridescent blue of his wolf. His mate was exactly what he dreamed for his entire life! Young, beautiful, full of life and joy, but most importantly – his.

Peter cleared his throat to stifle a laugh and the kid blushed a delicious shade of pink. The wolf just wanted to sink his teeth in the sweet little thing and never let go.

“So what do you want to make an appointment for?” he asked instead and his voice came out lower and huskier than he intended.

The kid’s blush deepened and his scent soured with something unpleasant.

The wolf didn’t like that whatsoever and wanted the sweet scent of happy mate back, like - right now!

“Uhm… I have a…” the kid stammered and dropped his eyes to the floor, then sighed, straitened  his shoulders, took a fortifying breath, gathered himself and looked Peter in the eyes – determined and challenging.

“I have a soul mate malfunction. I want his name tattooed over.”

And everything for Peter when to a screeching hold.

“Excuse me?” he demanded, almost snappishly cold.

The kid’s eyes hardened.

“I met him two weeks ago, but he has someone else’s name on his wrist” and the boy produced a picture. “Here, I can prove it.”

And then it all clicked for Peter.

His mate had met the person who had stolen Peter’s identity! His mate had a picture of the thief soul mark! After this nightmare of a year Peter finally could have some closure! Some revenge! His wolf howled for blood!

But first, he had to make things right with their mate.

“Come to my office” Peter told the boy and let the way. “Do you want something to drink?”

The kid entered the back office, declined the drink and stared at Peter a bit confused.

“Can I see you ID first?” the werewolf asked gently.

The kid put the picture at the desk and rummaged for his wallet. Peter had a hard time keeping his eyes away from the photo, because this – right here, right now - was more important. Finally the kid Stiles fished a driver’s license and handed it to Peter.

The first thing the wolf checked was if the kid was legal. Nineteen. Thank goodness for that. Then…

_Miechislav Genim Stilinski._

The name that sat on Peter’s wrist. Not that he doubted it - the scent of _mate_ was unmistakable, ask anyone - he just wanted the ID to be out for his own reveal, and to hide the fact he _already knew_ they were soul mates. He made himself stare for a long time at the driver’s license.

“May I see the name on your wrist?” he asked next.

The kid unbuttoned the sleeve of his shirt, removed the patch hiding his soul mark and extended his hand toward the werewolf. The wolf took the wrist and stared at it for a long time. Peter didn’t had to force himself to look longer this time. There is something deeply profound seeing your name on the wrist of your soul mate.

_Peter Joshua Hale_

The kid squirmed in his grasp.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked unsurely.

Peter forced his wolf to let go of their mate’s wrist.

“Please, take a seat” the wolf invited, swiping the photograph and went to sit at the desk across from Stiles. The boy lowered himself hesitantly in the chair and looked at the werewolf uncertain.

Peter kept silent for a while trying to puzzle how to explain the situation better, while his mate looked at him expectantly and apprehensively.

“Do you know,” Peter finally decided to start with “that people who have soul mark malfunction have to document it properly? You need a written statement from three witnesses and a court order, stating the malfunction?”

“What?” the kid was startled “But he said…”

“Forget about what he said!” Peter’s palm hit the desk, enraged, nostrils flaring. He took a deep breath to calm himself down, while the boy looked at him with wide eyes. “He lied to you.”

The kid flared in anger and hurt.

“How would you know?” Stiles snapped.

“I know because of this.” Peter handed the boy his own driver’s license. “And this” he added showing his own wrist.

The kid’s eyes went comically wide. He gawked at the mark, at the license, back at the mark, then up at Peter’s face, than back at the mark.

Peter was starting to get worried, because the kid’s heartbeat had escalated to dangerous levels.

“I… I don’t understand what’s going on” the boy finally stammered.

Peter smiled gently at his mate.

“The person you thought was your soul mate stole my identity a year ago. I just got it back.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed at him.

“If this is some sort of a prank, you better watch out, because my dad is the Sheriff! He will hand you your ass if you’re trying to play me!” he threatened.

Peter busted out laughing. His mate was adorable! Threatening as a newborn kitten! And bristled like one too!

“Good thing my sister is the DA to defend me then” Peter chuckled finally calming down.

The boy made the adorable gold fish impersonation again.

They stayed silent, just looking at each other, letting the situation sink in for Stiles. Peter just basked in his mate’s presence and breathing him in.

The boy finally spoke.

“I don’t know what to do with this. What happens now?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly and his scent giving away how lost he felt.

“Now you take me to meet your father, and then I take you to meet my family. And after that I take you out for dinner”.

The kid’s scent changed from lost to hopeful.

“Okay. Yeah, that’s a good plan. Let’s do that.”

And then he hesitated, looked Peter in the eyes and almost pleaded.

“This is real, right? It’s not a joke?”

Peter reached and grabbed the boy’s hand.

“Why would it be a joke, Stiles?” he asked gently.

His mate’s eyes dropped at their intertwined hands, Peter’s mark and his own clearly visible.

“I just…” he started, then sniffled. “These two weeks I…”

His voice gave up on him.

Peter jumped up, rounded the desk, not letting go of his mate’s hand and pull the boy into his arms. The adorable little thing tried to burrow in his chest.

“You have no idea how real this is, kitten, no idea!” the wolf assured his boy. “Let me just lock this place and we can go see your father, okay?”

Stiles shuddered but reluctantly let go. Peter was as reluctant to let him as the boy was. But there would be more of that later. More hugs, and also kisses, and hickeys, and scent marking, and sex, and claiming, and knotting…

Later. That was for later. Now Peter had to go meet his future father-in-law.

The last thing Peter did before they left the tattoo parlor was to have a quick peak at the photo of the fake’s soul mark.

_Kathrin Elisabeth Argent_

Well, well, well, wasn’t that a surprise?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, guys and gals, I’m not posting tomorrow, because it’s 27-th and I hate days of the month with a number seven in them. I actually hate number 7 in general.  
> One last story to go – for the 28-th of June, and I’m bowing out of Steter week 2018.  
> Let me know what you think of this one. I’m not all that fond of it, IDK why. Kind of bland and dull, I think – wolf meets mate, bam, insta’love. I tried my best, but apparently my inspiration fizzed out for this one. Hope to do better with the one for 28-th of July, which I’m very fond of, although you might be scandalized and outraged with what I had done with the AU.


End file.
